Supernatural Episode Prompts
by SwanSong22
Summary: This is going to be a book of true scenes in Supernatural written in story form. The first one I did was the final battle scene in Swan Song (my favorite episode), and I want you to tell me what to do next. I'll try to do all your suggestions, just tell me what scene in what episode, just please not any sexual scenes, please. I'll use real dialogue and actions from the episode.
1. Swan Song

_**Season Five: Episode 22:**_ _**Swan Song**_

_**Stull Cemetery **_

_**Scene of the Final Battle**_

A cool wind came through the brown, desolate field of Stull Cemetery, whistling through the bare branches of nearby trees, capable of chilling any human to the bone. A few old, unmarked graves filled the churchyard, making it appear even more deserted and forbidding. A warning caw suddenly filled the silent air, and an ebony crow perched upon a maple spread its silken wings and took flight, soaring further away until it became a tiny silhouette against the steely sky.

A man had come to the cemetery, tall and handsome, his dark hair blowing slightly in the wind. His chin was lifted serenely, and expression of confidence and perseverance played on his face. Not a soul would have suspected that this mysterious man was Lucifer himself.

A whooshing noise sounded behind him, and he turned to look at this newcomer, a shorter, younger man of about twenty, whose eyes seemed to have a permanent look of tiredness and melancholy to them. Lucifer raised his chin in greeting.

"It's good to see you, Michael." He said, his voice displaying a small hint of empathy. Michael expression didn't change.

"You too." He said. "It's been too long." A small moment of quietude came between the two brothers.

"Can you believe it's finally here?" Lucifer asked. Michael strode toward him, glancing around the cemetery.

"No, not really." He said. Michael paused a couple yards away from Lucifer. "Are you ready?"

Lucifer inhaled deeply, then gave a tiny nod.

"As I'll ever be." He said. "A part of me wishes we didn't have to do this." Michael glanced sharply at him, but then gave a tiny nod.

"Yeah." He admitted. "Me too."

"Then why are we?" Lucifer asked, a slightly anxious edge to his voice. Michael gave him an annoyed look.

"Oh, you know why!" He replied sharply. "I have no choice, after what you did."

"What I did?" Lucifer asked. "What if not it's not my fault?"

"What's that supposed mean?" Michael asked, his tone rather haughty.

"Think about it." Lucifer said. "Dad made everything. Which means he made me who I am! God wanted the Devil."

"So?" Michael said.

"So why?" Lucifer's voice as getting to sound desperate. "Why make us fight? I just can't figure out the point."

"What's your point?" Michael challenged. Lucifer looked him in the eye.

"We are going to kill each other." He said. "And for what? One of Dad's tests. And we don't even know the answer. We're brothers. Let's just walk off the chessboard."

Michael was silent for a minute, as though considering.

"I'm sorry." He finally said. "I can't do that. I'm a good son, and I have my orders."

"But you don't have to follow them." Lucifer wasn't going to give up easily.

"What, you think I'm gonna rebel?" Michael asked angrily. "Now? I'm not like you."

"Please, Michael…" Lucifer pleaded.

"You know, you haven't changed a bit, little brother." Michael interrupted. "Always blaming everybody but yourself. We were together. We were happy. But you betrayed me - all of us - and you made our Father leave."

"No one makes Dad do anything." Lucifer said. "He is doing this to _us_."

"You're a monster, Lucifer." Michael said, his voice expressing finality. "And I have to kill you."

Lucifer looked at the ground, his face melancholy. "If that's the way it's got to be." He said, slowing lifting his face to meet Michael's gaze. His eyes now burned with a new light of exhilaration and adrenaline. "Then I'd like to see you try."

The two warriors of Heaven and Hell began to circle one another, each one staring at the other in grim determination. After a full rotation, they paused, the tension of the beginning of the battle already growing in the air. Suddenly, the sound of a car engine being revved came from the entrance of the cemetery. The brothers turned toward the noise, and as they watched, a black 1967 Chevy Impala came rumbling in, the song "Rock of the Ages" blaring from the stereo. The Impala parked in front of them, and the driver got out, an attractive man in his early thirties wearing a leather jacket. He grinned casually at them.

"Howdy, boys." He said. Michael and Lucifer stared at him in a mixture of disbelief and annoyance. The man glanced between them. "Sorry. Am I interrupting something?" An edge of sarcasm played at his tone. He turned off the stereo in the car and then slammed the door, turning to face them. "Hey. We need to talk." Lucifer took a step towards him.

"Dean. Even for you, this is a whole new mountain of stupid." He said. Dean glanced at him.

"I'm not talking to you." He countered. "I'm talking to Sam."

"You are no longer the vessel, Dean." Michael interrupted. "You have no right to be here." Dean turned to look at Michael.

"Adam, if you're in there somewhere, I am so sorry." Dean did sound apologetic, but Michael just seemed irritated.

"Adam isn't home right now." He said, his voice displaying false pleasure.

"Well, then you're next on my list, buttercup. But right now, I need five minutes with him." Dean gestured to Lucifer. Michael advanced angrily toward him.

"You little maggot." He said. "You are no longer a part of this story!" He continued to come toward Dean, eyes blazing.

"Hey, ass-butt." A voice said. Castiel, a handsome, dark-haired angel, accompanied by another hunter, Bobby Singer, was holding a bottle from which a flame of holy fire was burning. He threw it at Michael, who screamed as he went up in flames. Dean was looking at Cass with an expression that clearly said "Really?".

"'_Ass-butt'_?" He asked. Castiel shrugged.

"He'll be back - and upset - but you got your five minutes." He said. Lucifer stepped forward.

"Castiel." he said, his voice dangerous. "Did you just Molotov my brother with holy fire?" Cass stepped back and shrugged nervously.

"Uh...no…" He said, giving an anxious sort of smile. Lucifer continued to move forward, his eyes sparking angrily.

"No one dicks with Michael but me." He said, tone low and lethal. Before Cass had time to do anything, Lucifer snapped his fingers and Cass exploded in a rain of blood and chunks of flesh. Dean's face displayed a look of shock. He turned anxiously to Lucifer.

"Sammy, can you hear me?" He asked, trying to contact his brother. Lucifer looked at Dean in amusement.

"You know...I tried to be nice...for Sammy's sake." Lucifer moved toward Dean. "But you...are such a pain...in my ass."

Lucifer seized Dean and threw him with such force against the Impala's windshield the glass cracked. He started to advance toward Dean again, and Bobby fervently began to shoot him with his pistol. Lucifer turned to Bobby, his expression slightly irritated as though Bobby was a mosquito buzzing around his face. Bobby glanced over at Dean and shrugged. Lucifer lifted his hand, and with one quick rotation of his wrist, snapped Bobby's neck.

"No!" Dean yelled, his cry a mixture of disbelief and grief. Lucifer grabbed Dean's legs.

"Yes." He said, pulling him off the hood of the Impala by his calves. Lucifer administered a forceful punch to Dean's face, and he stumbled, leaning forward on the Impala. Blood was dripping from his mouth. He turned around to face Lucifer, whose face displayed amusement and triumph.

"Sammy?" Dean asked hopefully. "Are you in there?"

"Oh, he's in here alright." Lucifer sneered. He punched Dean again, and Dean admitted a groan. "And he's gonna feel the snap of your bones!" Lucifer grasped Dean's collar and punched his jaw, this time causing him to fall to the ground."Every single one." He hauled Dean to his feet and pushed him against the side of the Impala. "And we're gonna take our time."

Lucifer punched Dean again. And again. And again. He punched him a further seven times until Dean's face was bloody and swollen. Dean put his hand to Lucifer's stomach.

"Sam, it's okay." He said. "It's okay. I'm here. I'm here. I'm not gonna leave you." Lucifer punched him twice more. "I'm not gonna leave you."

Lucifer drew back his fist for another punch, but all of the sudden a beam of sunlight reflected off the Impala, catching Lucifer's eye, and through the window he saw a tiny toy army man stuck in the ashtray. Sam had put that in there when he was younger, and it was still stuck today. The memory flashed by, and many other ones, too. Dean stuffing Legos in the Impala's vent. Sam and Dean carving their initials in the Impala. Sam going through Dean's cassette collection. Sam and Dean singing to Bon Jovi. Sam and Dean driving down an unmarked road. Dean hugging Sam. Sam. Dean. Sam, Dean. Memories came whizzing by, and Lucifer's fist slowly unclenched. Suddenly, by some miracle, Sam was able to regain control of his body and mind from Lucifer. Sam breathed quickly and deeply realizing he'd won.

"It's okay, Dean." He said. "It's gonna be okay. I've got him." Dean didn't respond, delirious. Sam reached in his pants pocket and brought out the Four Rings of the Horsemen of the Apocalypse. He tossed them on the ground.

"_Bvtmon tabges babalon._" He spoke the incantation to open the door to Lucifer's Cage. The ground sunk, opening into a deep hole, the wind being sucked in. Sam looked back at Dean, expression grim and melancholy, then turned back to the hole and breathed deeply. He walked toward to edge of it and stared down.

"Sam!" Sam turned at the sound of Michael's voice. The archangel had returned. "It's not gonna end this way!" He shouted above the wind. "Step back!"

"You're gonna have to make me!" Sam yelled.

"I have to fight my brother, Sam." Michael shouted back. "It's my destiny!" Sam looked back at Dean, and then spread his arms, preparing to fall backwards into the entrance to Cage. Michael lunged forward and grabbed his jacket, but was pulled in, too. Michael and Sam, along with Adam and Lucifer, fell into the hole, plunging deeper and deeper into darkness. After a few moment, the hole closed with a blinding flash of light, the Horsemen's; rings smoking on the ground.


	2. Soul Survivor

_**Season Ten: Episode 3**__**: Soul Survivor**_

_**Men of Letters Bunker**_

_**The Curing of Dean Winchester**_

Sam Winchester cautiously made his way down to the basement in the Men of Letters bunker, deep in thought and concentration. Dark and desolate the basement was, filled with countless books of demonology and angelology. Despite the dreary, lonesome solitude that he felt anytime he had reason to come down here, Sam also sensed the knowledge that this one room possessed, the legends, rituals, and spells contained and hidden within here, far away from the ignorant eyes of humanity. Whenever Sam had a question, or needed more information on a creature he was hunting, these books lining the shelves gave him the answer.

This time, however, Sam was not coming down here in pursuit of lore, but because of a very different matter, one far more important in his mind. He strode over to one particularly secretive bookcase concealed behind two others. Pulling the smaller bookshelves aside, Sam pushed the larger one outward, revealing the entrance to the Men of Letters dungeon, specially designed for imprisonment and experimentation of captive demons, complete with a large Devil's trap and demonic handcuffs and chains. Yet Sam was not going in for an analysis or investigation with the prisoner now bound in the center of the demon trap, but to rescue him, to cure and purify his own brother, Dean Winchester, whose eyes seemed to burn with hatred as he entered.

"Really?" He asked, seeing the cooler that Sam carried.

"For whatever it's worth, I got your blood type." Sam replied grudgingly. He didn't want to risk injecting Dean, demon or not, with a blood type different from his own. No telling what that could do to him. He reached inside the cooler and pulled out a black bag.

"Sam, I know you think that you're gonna try and fix me, but did it ever occur to you that maybe I don't want to be fixed?" Dean asked, his tone displaying small, sarcastic touches of casualty and annoyance. Sam remained silent and unfolded the bag, which contained eight syringes of blood. "Just let me go live my life. I won't bother you. What do you care?" Dean smirked.

"What do I care?" Sam inquired, as though the answer was obvious. He began to splash holy water on the floor, chanting in Latin.

"You think I'm just gonna sit here like Crowley?" Dean sneered. "Get all weepy while you shoot me up? Well, screw that! I don't want this!"

"Yeah, I pretty much figured that out." Sam muttered.

"You don't even know if this is gonna work, do you? You know, I got a hell of a lot more running through me than just demon juice." Dean said.

"Mark of Cain, got it." Sam said, irritated. God, his brother was a dick as a demon.

"That's right." Dean jeered, eyes narrowed in a mocking way.

Sam walked over to Dean, syringe in his hand.

"Buckle up." He said monotonously.

"Sammy…" Dean taunted. "You know I hate shots."

"I hate demons." Sam said, walking closer. Dean's eyes went black the second before Sam splashed him with holy water. He yelled as his skin sizzled, and Sam plunged the needle into his forearm, emptying the syringe. Dean's eyes widened as he screamed in terrible pain, the blood already taking some effect. "Look, we've got a whole bunch more of these to go." Sam said, voice shaking slightly. "You could make it a lot easier on yourself." Dean stared back at him with a barbaric, sinister expression of pure loathing.

* * *

One hour later, Sam slide another needle into Dean's arm. Dean groaned in pain.

"For all you know, you could be killing me." He gasped. Sam turned to him.

"Or...you're just messing with me." He said. "Either way, the lore doesn't say anything about exceptions to the cure." Dean chuckled.

"'The lore'" He scoffed. "Hunters. Men of Letters. What a load of crap it all is!" He looked haughtily at Sam. "Oh, you got nothing?"

"You want me to debate you?" Sam asked. "This isn't even the real you I'm talking to."

"Oh, it's the real me, alright." Dean said. "The new real me, the me that sees things for what they really are. Winchesters. Do-gooders. Fighting the natural order. Let me tell you something, guys like me, we are the natural order. It's the way it was set up."

"Guys like me," Sam countered. "still gotta do what we can."

"Don't be so full of yourself, Sammy." Dean said. "'Cause, see, from where I'm sitting, there ain't much difference from what I turned into to what you already are."

"And what exactly is that supposed to mean?" Sam asked angrily. Dean was starting to get on his nerves.

"I know what you did when you went looking for me." Dean said. "I know how far you went. Crowley told me all about it. So let me ask you...which one of us is really a monster? Hmm? Starting to come back to you now?"

Sam exhaled deeply as he realized what Dean meant. A memory flashed through his mind, at the bar, how he had convinced an unknowing Lester to be bait, so he could capture the Crossroads Demon.

"You were trying to get a twenty on Crowley and me from any demon you could snag." Dean said. "But Crowley didn't want to be found, and no one showed when you summoned. But you found a way, didn't you, Sam?"

Another flashback came through Sam's head. He had just wanted Lester to summon the Crossroads Demon for him, but Lester had sold his soul before Sam had been able to take control, sealed the deal right before Sam could stop him.

"You would have liked to have gotten there before the deal went down, but you didn't really care about poor ol' Lester, did you?" Dean mocked him. Sam looked away. Lester had sold his soul, but for what? The Crossroads Demon hadn't given him any leads or information.

"Oh, and so you know, I killed Lester myself." Dean continued. "And that wife of his married the tattooed guy." Sam slammed his hand down on the table in frustration and remorse.

"I never meant-" he began.

"Who cares what you meant?!" Dean ridiculed. "That line that we thought was so clear between us and things we hunted, ain't so clear, is it? Wow. You might actually be worse than me! I mean, you took a guy at his lowest, used him, and it cost him his life and his soul. Nice. Work."

His anger breaking loose, Sam jammed the needle of the next syringe into the back of Dean's neck. Dean yelled as the blood coursed through him. Sam forcefully tossed the empty syringe back on the table, a mixture of pain and regret evident on his face.

"Let me ask you this, Sammy:" Dean said, his voice husky. "If this doesn't work, we both know what you got to do to me, right? You got the stomach for that, Sam?!" Sam didn't reply, though his lip slightly trembled amongst his expression of dread.

* * *

"Sam?" Castiel's voice sounded on the other end of the line. Sam walked out of the dungeon where Dean was chained up.

"Cass. Hey, are you still coming?" He asked. He had called Castiel, hoping that he might be able to help.

"I'm a few hours away." Cass said. "Is the treatment working?" Sam glanced back at Dean, then away.

"No, not very well." He admitted. "Look, it-it's not like it was with Crowley. Dean is in pain. I mean, he's in bad pain. It's like he's barely holding on. Cass...I might be killing him." Cass was silent for a moment.

"It might be." He said.

"So...what?" Sam asked. "Should I stop?"

"And do what?" Cass said. "He's not possessed. Exorcism is out of the question. The ritual of purified blood is the only treatment I know."

"Cass, did you not hear what I just said?" Sam asked, slightly irritated. "I could be killing my brother."

"Sam, he's not your brother." Castiel said, trying to reassure Sam. "At least, not now. You have to be prepared for-"

"Killing my brother." Sam finished. Another moment of silence passed.

"I'll be there as soon as I can." Cass said.

"Yeah, alright." Sam said. "I'll, uh, keep the entry unlocked for you. Just...hurry." He hung up and turned back to Dean, who had gone completely still. Concerned, he walked over and slapped Dean hard across the face. "Hey! Hey! _Dean!_" He said anxiously, shaking his brother. "Come on! Come back." Dean's response was barely a whisper.

"No." He murmured quietly.

"Come back to me." Sam said, still attempting to revive Dean further. "You there? Hey! Dean, you okay?"

"Yeah, if you…" Dean trailed off, still recovering. "...consider drowning in your own sweat while your blood boils 'okay'." He gave a weak cough, and Sam stood up, relieved.

"Look," he said. "I can't stop doing this."

"Sure you can." Dean said. "You just _stop. _There's no point in trying to bring your brother back now."

"Oh, I will bring him back." Sam said, his voice far more confident than he actually felt.

"In fact," Dean started. "your, uh, guilt-ridden, weight-of-the-world bro has been M.I.A for quite some time now. But I'm loving the new model: lean, mean, Dean."

"Right." Sam muttered sarcastically.

"You notice I tried to get as far away from you as possible?" Dean challenged. "Away from your whining, complaining. I chose the King of Hell over you! Maybe I was just...tired of babysitting you. Or always having to yank your lame ass out the fire since…" He scoffed. "...forever. Or maybe...maybe it was the fact that my mother would still be alive if it wasn't for you. That your very existence sucked the life out of my life." Sam turned to him.

"This isn't my brother talking." He said, feeling the truth within his own words.

"You never had a brother!" Dean shouted. He smirked at Sam. "Just an excuse for not manning up. But guess what: I quit."

"No." Sam said. "No, you don't. You don't get to quit. We don't get to quit in this family! This family is all we have ever had!"

"Well, then we got nothing." Dean said.

"Would you say that to Dad?" Sam tested.

"Dad? Oh, there's the prize." Dean said casually. "There's a man who brainwashed us into wasting our lives fighting his losing battle." Sam turned away, and prepared the next syringe. "Oh…" Dean grinned. "Ooh. Is this you manning up?"

"This is me yanking your lame ass out the fire." Sam said, using Dean's own words against him. He jabbed the needle forcefully into Dean's forearm. Dean didn't yell, but his face grimaced, suppressing a cry of pain.

"You're welcome." Sam muttered. He excited the room, leaving Dean gasping as the purified blood filled his veins.

* * *

Sam walked slowly back to the basement his visit to Dean's room leaving him depressed and pensive. He'd looked over the things that had once been so important to Dean, when he was human. Busty Asian Beauties magazines. Pie. Sam gave a tiny smile, in spite of himself. And pictures...pictures of his parents, of Bobby, the two of them. Just gazing at the photos caused him to get tears in his eyes. Inhaling deeply, Sam went over to the dungeon again, hoping maybe just seeing his brother's physical form would help him feel optimistic, like everything was going to be alright. He looked into the dungeon, and saw the chair Dean had been seated in...empty.

His body and mind now alert from the shock and astonishment he received, Sam ran out of the basement, and heading to his room, quickly grabbing the demon knife. He knew in the back of his mind that this might come down to him having to murder his brother, but he refused to let that thought pass through. He'd have to find a way to recapture Dean. His back to the wall, and knife at the ready, Sam stealthily edged down the hallway, his senses tuned to catch any sign of Dean's presence. He presently heard a door open, and continued creeping down the hall, and reaching into a nearby drawer, grasped the keys to the control room. Suddenly, Dean's voice called.

"Come on, Sammy! Don't you want to hang out with your big brother? Spend a little quality time?"

So Dean was still here, and looking for him. Sam felt his gut tightening the way it did every time he was on a hunt. They were playing predator and prey, only each one was both roles. There was no telling how this would turn out. He hoped Cass would get here, and soon.

Upon reaching the control room, Sam quickly unlocked the door with his key and opened it. He flipped a switch on the wall and the lights of the bunker shut off, leaving red light flashing and the alarm blaring.

"Smart, Sam!" Sam heard Dean yelling. "Locking the place down! Doors won't open. I get it. But here's the thing: I don't want to leave! Not til' I find you!" Sam purposely made some noise, attempting to lure Dean to the control room. "Sammy! You're just making this worse on yourself, man! Oh, by the way, you can, uh, blame yourself for me getting loose. All that blood you pumped into me to make me human...well. The less demon I was, the less the cuffs worked. And that Devil's trap? Well, I just walked right across it. It smarted, but still." Sam held his breath and waited as Dean's footsteps approached. He cautiously peered around the corner down the hall toward the control room, just in time to see Dean's figure enter, and then the lights came back on. "Yeah, that's more like it." He heard Dean say, but before Dean could exit the room, Sam sprinted down the hallway and pushed the door shut, locking Dean inside. He threw the keys on the ground and waited by the door, knife in his hand.

"That's your big move?" Dean asked from inside.

"Listen to me, Dean!" Sam said desperately. "We're getting close, okay? I know you're still in there somewhere. Just let me finish the treatments." He waited for Dean's reply, but was met with silence. "Dean?" A large noise came thudding against the door, causing Sam to jump back. He watched as the door began to break, getting a small glimpse of a hammer Dean was wielding.

"You act like I want to be cured!" Dean yelled from inside. He continued to break down the door, until he and Sam were able to see each other. "Personally, I like the disease!"

"Dean, stop that!" Sam said. "Look, I don't want to use this blade on you!"

"That sucks for you, doesn't it?" Dean sneered. "'Cause you really mean that!"

"Look, if you come out that room, I won't have a choice!" Sam reasoned. Dean was still breaking the door.

"Sure you will!" Dean shouted. "And I know which one you'll make! Isn't that right, Sammy? But see...here the thing: I'm lucky. Oh, hell, I'm blessed! 'Cause there's just enough demon left in me that killing you. Ain't no choice at all." As Dean finally broke the door down, Sam ran down the hallway. He could tell Dean was following him. "Sammy?" He heard Dean's taunt. "C'mon Sammy! Let's have a beer, talk about it! I'm tired of playing. Let's finish this game!" Sam pressed up against the wall, breathing hard. He chanced a look down the hallway, but found it empty. He turned back around, but his hunter instincts told him that his enemy was right behind him, and Sam ducked just in time as Dean swung his hammer at his head, lodging in into the wall. Impulsively, Sam set his knife to Dean's throat. Dean smiled sinisterly.

"Well…" He said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Look at you. Do it. It's all you."

Sam let the knife fall, and Dean's smile widened as his eyes went black. He took a step toward Sam, grunting, when arms suddenly came around him.

"It's over." Castiel said. Cass's irises glowed bright blue with his grace. "Dean, it's over." Dean roared in frustration, but Cass just held on. "It's over."

* * *

Dean was once again strapped to his chair in dungeon as Sam pulled another needle out. Dean's head was hanging over, and his arm was riddled with previous marks from the syringes. Sam drew back staring cautiously at his brother.

"What the hell are we doing to him, Cass?" He asked. "I mean, even after I gave him all that blood, he still said he didn't want to be cured, that he didn't want to be human."

"Well...I see his point." Cass said. "You know, only humans can feel real joy, but...also such profound pain. This is easier." Dean suddenly stirred, and his eyes opened, still completely black. The blackness dissipated, and Sam unscrewed the flask of holy water. Dean glanced from Sam to Castiel, groaning and letting out a breath. He glanced around, uncertain.

"You look worried, fellas." He finally said. Sam splashed holy water in Dean's face, causing him to flinch, but nothing happened. Sam smiled in relief.

"Welcome back, Dean." he said.


	3. Do You Believe in Miracles?

_**Season Nine: Episode 23**__**: Do You Believe in Miracles?**_

_**Abandoned Warehouse in a Homeless Encampment**_

_**Fight of Dean Winchester and Metatron/Dean's Resurrection in a New Life**_

Dean Winchester casually climbed down the metal staircase, wearing an expression of unconcerned confidence, as though he did this everyday, and carrying something wrapped in tan felt. The place was cold and silent, aside from his footsteps echoing off the rusted walls, and also empty, except for an older man sitting in meditation pose at the back of the warehouse, a most unlikely disguise for Metatron, the Scribe of God. Dean glanced at him.

"You can save the humble-pie Jesus routine for somebody who gives a damn." he commented. Metatron seemed unfazed as Dean descended from the final stair and turned to face him.

"The problem with you, Dean, is the cynicism." He said, stating his opinion as though passing a judicial sentence. "Always with the cynicism. But most people- even the real belly crawlers living in filth, or Brentwood- they don't want to be cynical. They just want something to believe in."

"And that be you." Dean muttered.

"Why not me?" Metatron inquired. Dean took a few steps toward him.

"You've been working those people outside for, what, a day? They've already spilt blood in your name. You are nothing but Bernie Madoff with wings." He said accusingly.

"So I'm a fake." Metatron scoffed. He rose to his feet. "Do you have any idea," he began. "How much pancake makeup and soft lightning it took to get God to work a rope line?" Dean's expression remained aloof and unchanged. "He hated it!" Metatron continued. "And you know, humans sense that. So they prayed harder, and longer, and fought more wars in His name. And for what?! So they could die of malaria? Leukemia? And all the while, blaming themselves!" His voice rose to high-pitched whine. "'Oh, if only I'd more prayerful!, God would have loved me! God would have saved me!' You know what?! _God_ didn't even know their name!" Metatron's rantings echoed around the warehouse, and he looked Dean straight in the eye. "But I do. Because I've walked among them. And I can save them." Dean raised his eyebrows.

"Sure you can." He sneered. "So long as your mug is in every Bible, and "What would Metatron do?" is on every bumper."

"And?" Metatron asked. "What, are you blaming me for giving them what they want, giving them a brand they can believe in?"

"I'm blaming you for Kevin!" Dean interrupted angrily. "I'm blaming you for taking Cass's grace." He started to unwrap the object in his hand. "Hell, I'm blaming you for the Cubs not winning The World Series for the last, one hundred freaking years." Dean now held the unwrapped object in his hand, the jawbone of a donkey, fashioned to have a sharp edge and attached to slick black hilt. He held the knife up threateningly toward Metatron. A small, cruel smile came across his face, and a maniacal light shone from his vigilant green eyes. "Whatever it is...I'm blaming you."

Metatron's eyes were fixed on the knife in Dean's hands.

"The First Blade." He stated, giving a small smirk, but a bit of nervousness played on his face. "Nasty piece of work, isn't she?" Dean's face radiated an intense, insane urge to kill, but he lowered the Blade. "Okay," Metatron began. "Let's say you win, Dean, and I die. What's the world left with then, hmm? A herd of panty-wasted angels and you? Half out of your mind with Lord know what pumping through those veins?"

"Yeah, you see, the only thing you've said that went through my ear was that you die." Dean said, advancing toward Metatron. Metatron lifted his arms in an "I tried" gesture.

"Ah. Fine. We'll fight." He said, lowering his arms. He shook his head and sighed. "I don't know what you expect to come of all this. Unless…" Metatron suggested innocently. "...that's why you're stalling. Because you know nothing's gonna come of this unless your pals succeed upstairs. Well, here's a news flash: Humpty and Dumpty are starring in their very own version of "Locked Up Abroad: Heaven" right now." Dean lowered his gaze down to the ground, a look of astonishment and worry on his face.

Dean turned away to hide his anger, and then threw out his hand to stab Metatron with the Blade. Metatron blocked the blow and Dean pushed him in the face with his left hand, causing him to stumble backwards.

"Wow." Metatron commented. "That big blade and that..._douchey_ tribal tat sure gave you some super juice! Whoo!" He chuckled and motioned with his hands to come forward. "Okay."

Dean rushed at him with a cry, but Metatron threw him in air about ten feet up a wall, where he fell to the ground with a crash. He got to his feet, red-hot adrenaline and exhilaration radiating from his form. Dean charged Metatron again, but Metatron telekinetically flung him against the wall once more, and as Dean laid immobile, Metatron advanced, viciously kicking Dean's arm and causing the First Blade flew out of his hand, clattering across the concrete. Metatron kicked Dean in the jaw, knocking him on his back, then stepped with all his weight on his wrist.

"So, you took Abaddon's scalp, then you figured you'd take on little old nebbishy me." He taunted. Dean groaned as Metatron's foot crushed down on his wrist. "What could go wrong? You're powered by the bone of a jackass, and it is just awesome, right? Here's a tip: next time, try to be powered by the Word of God." He kicked Dean in the chest. Dean managed to get up before Metatron's next strike but Metatron punched Dean in the face, and he fell against the wall, again. Metatron seized him again and punched him a further five times, causing his face to become swollen and bloody. But he didn't stop, he continued to brutally beat Dean up, almost to unconsciousness, blood pouring from his mouth, ears, and nose. He managed to sit up against the wall, and, seeing the First Blade on the floor a few meters away, reached his hand toward it. The Blade vibrated, then telekinetically came to his hand, attracted to the Mark of Cain, just as Sam sprinted in. Dean attempted to swing up the Blade to stab Metatron, but just as he turned around, Metatron drove an angel blade through his chest. Dean gasped horribly as the sound of his blood pouring out of his body reverberated around the open warehouse. Metatron smiled cruelly and twisted the blade before retracting it.

"No!" Sam's strangled cry echoed around the place. His eyes and Dean's met, and the two brothers gazed at each other as Dean's life ebbed 's body fell to the floor, and Sam rushed over, completely ignoring Metatron, to get his brother. He lifted him up, setting him in a sitting position against the wall.

"Hey. Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey. Hey." He said, anxious worry evident in his tone. Dean's closed eyelids suddenly shot open as the building began to shake. All of the sudden, Sam remembered Metatron was there and raised his angel blade. With a cry, he thrust his knife out toward Metatron, attempting to stab him, but the angel disappeared before the blade could pierce him.

Turning back to Dean, Sam desperately put a cloth to his brother's gaping wound to try and soak up the blood.

"Sammy, you gotta get out of here before he comes back." Dean managed weakly, his voice seemingly on the verge of tears.

"Shh, shh, shh, shh." Sam urged him to keep quiet. "Shut up. Shut up. Just save all your energy, alright? Oh, man. We'll stop the bleeding." He pressed Dean's hand to the cloth. Dean groaned. "We'll-we'll get you a doctor or-or I'll find a spell. You're gonna be okay." Dean pressed a hand to Sam's chest.

"Listen to me." He said. "It's better this way."

Sam's face was heartbroken.

"What?!" He asked. Dean gasped.

"The Mark." He said. "It's making me into something I don't wanna be."

"Don't worry about the Mark." Sam said, helping Dean to his feet. "We'll figure out the Mark later. Just hold on, okay? Get you some help." He pulled Dean's arm around his waist to support him. Dean moaned in agony. He began to help Dean toward the exit.

"What happened with you being okay with this?" Dean asked.

"I lied." Sam replied.

"Ain't that a bitch." Dean muttered. They walked a few more yards, and Dean suddenly put out his hand. "Sam. Hold up. Hold up. I gotta say something to you." Sam set him down on a piece of equipment.

"What?" He asked, holding his sibling upright. Dean placed his hand on Sam's shoulder, but as he talked, he moved it up to his face. The two brothers' eyes never left each other.

"I'm proud of us." Dean said. Sam's eyes teared up as he looked into Dean's fading green ones. Dean's hand fell from Sam's face as he closed his eyes and fell into his chest.

"No, no. Hey, hey, hey. Hey, wake up, buddy." Sam said, attempting to lift Dean up again. He grasped his face. "Hey. Dean." No reply. "Dean!" Tears began to fall down Sam's face as he breaks down completely. He gathered Dean's head to his chest and began to cry, his heart-wrenching sobs filling the warehouse.

* * *

Crowley stood shadowed in the doorway of Dean Winchester's bedroom, where the body was laid out on the bed, completely cleaned. He gazed at the body for a minute, then came forth and sat down opposite of the bed. Despite the fact that Dean couldn't hear him, he spoke.

"Your brother, bless his soul, is summoning me as I speak." Crowley said. "Make a deal, bring you back. It's exactly what I was talking about, isn't it? It's all become so... expected. You have to believe me. When I suggested you take on the Mark of Cain, I didn't know this was going to happen. Not really. I mean, I might not have told you the entire truth. But I never lied. I never lied, Dean. That's important. It's fundamental. But...there is one story about Cain that I might have... forgotten to tell you. Apparently, he, too, was willing to accept death, rather than becoming the killer the Mark wanted him to be. So he took his own life with the Blade. He died. Except, as rumor has it, the Mark never quite let go. You can understand why I never spoke of this. Why set hearts aflutter at mere speculation? It wasn't until you summoned me... No, it wasn't truly until you left that cheeseburger uneaten...that I began to let myself believe. Maybe miracles do come true."

He picked up the First Blade from the bedside and put it in Dean's right hand. He laid it on his chest. "Listen to me, Dean Winchester," Crowley said. "what you're feeling right now, it's not death. It's life, a new kind of life." He smiled slightly. "Open your eyes, Dean. _See_ what I see. _Feel _what I feel." Dean didn't respond, but Crowley's smile widened. "Let's go take a howl at that moon." After a moment, Dean Winchester's eyes did shoot open, but the vibrant green of his irises was not there.

His eyes were pure, soulless black.


End file.
